Feb 6, 2024
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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In high school one of my favourite rooms was the art room. It wasn’t my elective because I had taken something that would make my parents happy and something that wouldn’t need me to be creative but then also restrict that creative-ness with guidelines and deadlines. Or was that just an excuse? I don’t know.
Well, my group of friends was of 7, including me and everyone but me had opted for art. And every free period and every PT period they would all rush to it to complete their immense work. And of course I tagged along.
It was a cute little room not meant for more than 15 students with art supplies everywhere.
Coloured paper of all sizes and thickness.
Paints of colours I didn’t know had names.
Glitter (my favourite!)
Brushes and boards and geometric tools and whatnot.
I loved being there while my friends worked because there was music playing and the people I loved were there singing, painting, creating. It was such a beautiful and safe space.
My 16th birthday was on a Monday and the Friday before my birthday we spent the last 2 hours of school in the art room. I loved that everything I ever needed to be artsy was in that very room and I didn’t want to be disappointed on my birthday if no one gifted me something handmade.
I loved gifts. But I loved cards, letters and home baked cakes a lot more. Still do.
So I borrowed a black mount board and an entire new set of sparkles/glitter and made myself this ‘Happy Sweet Sixteen’ thingy that had all my favourite tv shows, books and quotes in glitter surrounding the asymmetric, unevenly sized, drippy 'Happy Sweet 16’.
It’s been years since then and while cleaning I just came across it. Looking at it, I now realize that my self love journey had begun a long, long time ago and has consisted of such tiny gestures for myself ever since.
How can I stop smiling?
Well, why should I!
First makes me happy. So happy. But I know better. This is not going to last long. It has been just a week, how much longer can this continue? It will wear off. This interest, happiness, love, and everything good that First feels for me, it will go. Vanish away. Yes, it makes me sad but there is not much I can do. Well, except carpe diem. Can First be an exception? But by now I know there is never really an exception. But well as he says, for him I am an exception.
Tuesday, 16th September 2013
It started like this: I felt sick. I felt dizzy. My hands were shaking, and I was nervous. "We're just going to take it slow," you said. "We don't have to go anywhere, we can just drink hot chocolate and have a chat, if that's what you want..." you said it so reassuringly that I felt like it would be okay. I puked in the toilet sink on the train there, my hands were still shaking. It wasn't cute. I had mascara under my eyes from sweating so much. It wasn't how the movies portrayed first dates. I was 16.
For my 17th birthday my sister contacted my friends to get 17 letters as my surprise. When she got yours she was surprised. She asked me if you liked me and that made me laugh so hard while I texted your girlfriend who was also my best friend. You had written about our long walk on that summer evening in that abandoned street where we shared some sweet chocolate but even sweeter words. Why my sister assumed that is obvious but I know why you wrote that the way you did. You didn't consider yourself a writer. But you wanted to write me something really nice. You thought writing is all about romantcising everything. That's debatable. But so is that evening you spoke about. It was indeed the way you described. Very romantic. But also full of lies.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Never thought I'd ever worry about where I am going to sit for lunch without looking like that one lonely loser that doesn't have friends.
Elementary school me would not recognize that kid sitting alone trying to conceal his presence out of embarrassment.
So my son learned today that ETA stands for estimated time of arrival.